Scars
by TartanPhoenix
Summary: we are marked by our pasts. They are the story of our lives.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or universe within the story. They are the property of J. K. Rowling.

AN: I've got a new job, a little wine, and a happy little plot bunny. So, here we go!

"Very good, Miss McGonagall, very good! A few more weeks and you should have your form down pat." Minerva leaned back against the foot of his desk, her ankles crossing in front of her. Sweat rolled down her cheek and stung her eyes, which were bright from excitement. After six months of trying and five months of frustration, she had finally managed fur. She was soft and sleek, but the growing process inched terribly. She looked up at her professor, smiling widely, and her grin widened when she saw the twinkle in his eyes.

"And will I spend my time chasing my tail, or do I need to warn my parents about potential hair balls in their slippers do you think?" She grinned and reached a hand up to him, asking silently for help.

He grasped her hand softly, laughing all the while, and helped her to her feet. "Oh, the hair balls, most certainly! I will have to remember to stay on your good side; I wouldn't want any surprises on my chair!" He patted the back of her hand and gave it a squeeze. He went to pull away, but she didn't release him. Her eyes were fixed on his wrist; the sleeve of his robes had pulled up, revealing a good portion of his forearm. Her eyes were fastened on his wrist, or more accurately, the scar that wrapped around it. It was white with age, and slightly raised. But, it was the sheer size and odd shape that seemed to captivate her.

She continued to stare and didn't seem to notice as her thumb trailed along the underside softly, slowly. But, he did. Albus watched in morbid fascination as the hair of his arm began to stand on end and the skin twitched.

She seemed to notice his sudden silence and released his hand, jerking her own away. "I'm sorry, Professor, I..."

Albus cleared his throat, but didn't move his hand. "Quite all right, miss McGonagall. I've always found scars to be most instructional. This one I received when I was but a lad of eight. My parents had taken me to the zoo for my birthday. You must remember, my dear, zoos were still a fairly new idea at the time. It was the first time I had ever seen a penguin, you see. Marvelous creatures. They used to keep the animals in cages no larger than the Quidditch shed, no matter the size of the poor animal. I was split between awe at the little beauties, and despair. They looked so sad to my eight-year-old eyes, and I wanted to make them feel better. My mother warned me; she warned me to keep my hands to myself, but I was so stubborn, so sure of myself. I was certain they only needed a little caring, a small pet on the head. Needless to say, I was wrong. The penguin took exception to my intrusion, and the result is as you see. It was quite the shock, I must admit, but most instructive."

"And what lesson did your new scar teach you?" Minerva looked up and tried not to laugh. Mauling by bird was not supposed to be amusing.

"A very important one indeed. Feeling compassion, doing what we think is right can lead to unexpected consequences, sometimes good, sometimes painful. But, ignoring these moments can be far more painful than the alternative." He stopped and gave her a wink. "And, if you ever wish to pet a penguin, toss a fish in behind it first. The result presents a far less imposing target!"


	2. Chapter 2

Minerva groaned low in her chest as he pulled the strip tighter. Damn it!" She ground out. They were in a low cave. They we cold; they we wet. And, Minerva was missing a piece of her thigh while Albus' nose looked as if he had gone three rounds with Hagrid. This had turned out to be a most unpleasant Tuesday.

"Hold on, my dear. I know it hurts, but I would really rather you didn't bleed to death today. Miss Pomfrey would kill me, and then your mother would murder me. I am far too young, and up until a few hours ago ,to pretty to die." He leaned over her exposed thigh, trying to ignore the expanse of skin before him as she held her torn robes out of his way.

The falling piece of rock had done a considerable amount of damage. They had only gotten away from the last skirmish intact, the only true victims being his nose and pride. The forest was dark and night had crept up on them. He shook his head and examined his handiwork. The bleeding had finally stopped, and the skin of her leg was pinking up nicely.

He reached out and grabbed another strip of her robes and began to mop up the excess blood. He used gentle, even strokes and tried to control his breathing. His heart had stopped when she had cried out and fallen. Now, however, it was the smooth skin and warmth that toyed with the beat. His hand stopped, and he leant forward. "Well, what do we have here?" The blood had given way to show a faint scar on the inner side of her thigh, midway above her knee.

Minerva propped herself up on her elbows and looked down only to flop back in an undignified heap. "Last Christmas."

Albus traced the round mark gently, skimming the edges with the tip of his finger. Her breath hitched and his sped up.

"Alastor gave our training group Christmas day off, and Poppy convinced me to join her for a party...a muggle themed party. She wouldn't let anyone use magic, so I was reduced to using a muggle curling iron to set my hair. Have you these them, the little torture devices? You heat them on the stove and hope you don't set you entire head ablaze. Well, I didn't quite get the opportunity to try. It was glowing softly when I pulled it off." Minerva took a deep breath in and huffed.

"Poppy chose that moment to flounce in and I wasn't paying enough attention. I turned and caught my thigh with the hot iron. I then proceeded to drop it on my foot and broke my little toe. I was swearing, Poppy was screaming, and Rolanda was knocked out cold when she fell off the sofa laughing and smacked her head on the table. Served her right. We never did make it to the party, and I had to spend the last year listening to Alastor go on about constant vigilance!"

Minerva growled and Albus chuckled. "My poor Minerva." He whispered, fascinated by the small mark. "My poor...Minerva." His head quirked to the side and dipped, his eyes never wavering. Minerva watched, her breath stuck in her chest, as he brought two fingers to his lips, a small movement of his mustache, and those same fingers found their way back to the mark, caressing.

There was silence before he removed his fingers and continued to wipe up the area. "A kiss to make it all better." He said. His voice was rough and barely audible.

There was a pause. "And...and if the discomfort should return, would you be available for a second application.?"

The rag fell and his fingers stroked along her skin. "When we get back to Scotland, I shall be happy to provide my assistance in a purely preventative capacity should that meet with your approval. I wouldn't wish you to suffer a relapse." He pulled his cloak off and wrapped it around her having already propped the leg up on a large stone. She lifted an arm and the cloak in invitation. He slid in beside her and his hand came to rest on the inside of her thigh. She leaned her head against his shoulder and nuzzled the filthy cloth. "Well, they do say prevention is the best medicine."


	3. Chapter 3

The room was pitch black save for the single candle floating gently through the air. The faint glow chased away the demons, kept them safe. The water lapped at the porcelain edges while the steam curled around tired limbs. The sponge traveled up his chest, ticking the hairs. Minerva's breath tickled his neck as he leaned back against her, sighing. His entire body was tense after a day spent at the Ministry. Three murder trials in the morning was followed swiftly by six hours locked away in the Minister's office looking over the draft for a new bit of anti-giant legislation. It had been ten minutes of reading and more than five hours of arguing. The bath had been waiting for them when he arrived home. She dropped the sponge and let her fingers stroke along his ribcage, brushing her lips against his ear as Albus moaned. The darkness wrapped around them, and her fingers continued onward. Over the ribs, passed the nipple with the barest of brushes, and along the edge of his left pectoral. Trailing in, she found what she was looking for, an oblong, raised, area just below his heart. In the light it was a dark pink colour with jagged edges. It looked like a feather. The finger stopped, and she waited.

"I was twelve, only just. About a month into the summer holiday, Aberforth got it into his head that he wanted to play. He was only seven at the time, and I thought I was too old to bother with him. Too self-important was a more apt description. We lived on an old estate with railings that only came to my waist, even then. I wasn't paying attention to him, and Aberfrorth took exception. He started screaming something about balls, love, and 'his Mister Fuzzypants' when he charged me. I was half-sitting against the rail when he hit, and I went over the edge." He reached down and ran warm hand up the back side of her thigh.

"Mother was in the gardens below pulling weeds and trimming back the bushes. Sometimes, I can still hear her screams as I fell. I've never heard a sound like that from her since. All I really remember is the ground rushing closer, and then a heaviness before nothing. I landed on her bush; thankfully, mother managed to slow my decent, but I was impaled on a rather stubborn branch. It missed my heart by less than an inch. and got stuck on my rib. I woke in St. Mungo's three days later, my hospital room covered in pictures Aberforth had drawn as an apology; Mr. Fuzzypants, his imiginary friend, even contributed a piece or two. Mother raised the railing the day I returned home, Aberforth was stuck doing my chores for a week, and I spent the rest of summer trying to avoid the gardens with an almost fanatical devotion. I had the most difficult time going back into Herbology that Fall. I almost failed that term."

There was silence as Minerva curled herself more tightly around him, resting her hand flat over his heart. It beat steady and strong, if not a bit quickly beneath her fingers that curled slightly, biting into the skin. She propped her chin on his shoulder, resting her head against his. "Well, that explains why I always get to see Pomona about her inventory, and why your mother turned blue laughing when I asked her about a garden for the cottage. How about I keep it down to potion ingredients and flowers, and you never, never, say Mr. Fuzzypants again."


	4. Chapter 4

His fingers brushed against the four small dots in the center of her palm, entranced, as always, by the slight roughness he always felt but never bothered to examine. Her pulse was fast against his thumb. It had pounded for days now. The wheels of the chair he sat upon squeaked when he shifted his weight. He looked up as she looked down to watch his index finger sweep again over her palm. He quirked an eyebrow and felt her pulse slow slightly to match the ticking of the clock behind them. The thin paper crinkled beneath her as she shifted, leaning into him.

"This one is all your fault. A few days after my birthday seventh year, do you remember? We were having breakfast in the Hall, and then I let out that yelp and left. You were having baked apples and making an utter mess of them. They were covered in raisins and honey, I believe, and then so were you. I was sitting at the table, watching you, as had become my habit, when you brought your thumb up to your lips. I was transfixed; your tongue slid out to lap the honey away, and when the pad of your thumb disappeared between your lips, I could feel my cheeks burn, and I think I actually groaned. I could see your eyes twinkle from a dozen yards off as Professor Bones shook her napkin at you."

His hand lay full against hers, the tips of his fingers only grazing the skin. Her pulse was quick yet again, and the clock struck the hour.

"I was, apparently, caught up enough, and flushed enough, to draw Ro's attention. She gave me a jab in the ribs with her elbow. I had a bruise the next morning. Well, I wasn't prepared and jumped. The palm of my hand slammed down on my fork, puncturing the skin. I was too embarrassed to go to the Hospital Wing, hence the scar. Ro teased me for weeks, and even Poppy wouldn't stop smirking every time she looked at me. So, it's utterly your fault. If you had been a bit neater, or a little less delicious to look at, I could have avoided the mortification and assault on my dignity."

Albus grasped her chin and ran tongue along his bottom lip. He leaned in, paper crinkling under his supporting hand, when the door hinges creaked. The door swung open and he pulled back, two sets of eyes turning toward the interruption. With a single wave of a wand, information began to scroll through the air.

"Congratulations, professors! I would say you're due the third week of March."


End file.
